


House of Goons

by Abracadebra



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Gen, Goon Show References, Hogan's Heros: Short Story Speed Writing Challenge, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:55:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24986440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abracadebra/pseuds/Abracadebra
Summary: Two new underground agents have arrived to replace Jenny and Willy on the Hammelburg escape route. But there's something strange and surreal about these two, and something quite worrisome about the judgment of the person who assigned them to their new post in the first place.Written for the Hogan's Heroes 2020 Short Story Speed Writing Challenge. Episode tag: The Flame Grows Higher. Cross-posted from Fanfiction.net.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	House of Goons

**Author's Note:**

> This is an episode tag for "The Flame Grows Higher." It is also a tribute to the brilliant, surreal and incomparable British radio comedy, The Goon Show.
> 
> Several of the prompts for this year's SSSWC came from The Goon Show, which aired on the BBC from 1951 to 1960. It's a program that had immense influence on British humor, but it is pretty obscure to Americans. I got interested in the Goons after reading a New York Times book review of The Goon Show Scripts by inveterate Goon fan John Lennon when I was 14. I spent my teen years poring over the three volumes of Goon Show scripts that were available in the U.S.
> 
> I tried to write something that wouldn't depend so heavily on actually being familiar with the Goons and would therefore be more accessible to more people, but I may have failed miserably. However, I entertained myself by dipping back into the scripts in a serious way for the first time in over 25 years, so there's that.
> 
> All three of the Goon Show phrases included in the challenge appear in this story. So do many, many more classic Goon Show lines. When I have more time, I'll take a stab at annotating them.
> 
> To make sense of it, I guess you just need to know that Henry Crun and Minnie Bannister are an old couple who appear in every Goon Show episode, with a few fixed character traits but a constantly rotating list of other attributes, including livelihoods. Hence, Newkirk's comments in my story.
> 
> For the approximately three people who will get most of the references, I hope I did the highly esteemed Goon Show a tiny bit of justice. And for everyone else, I hope the story will get you a teeny taste of the Goons, who really did have a tremendous impact on British humor for generations.

"They're new, but I'm told they're very, very capable. They're an elderly couple who both served in some capacity in the last war," Hogan was explaining to his men. Tonight they would be meeting their new Underground contacts for the first time, and a certain amount of apprehension was to be expected.

"Are you sure, Sir? Jenny and Willy have been at Station Two on the escape route for well over a year. I realize we didn't really know them until, you know, the recent incident. But wouldn't it be better if they remained in place?"

"Newkirk, I understand your concern, but their cover is blown, and anyway, it's not really our call," Hogan said. "They're being repatriated to a nice little cottage on the Swedish coast. Our job now is to be as helpful as possible to the new station agents, whose names are… Let's see… Heinrich Krün and Minnie Bannister."

"What peculiar names," LeBeau remarked.

"I knew a _Henry_ Crun once," Newkirk mused. "He was a maker of cardboard replicas, or possibly a tea planter. He had a missus called Minnie, come to think of it. A world-class poker player."

"Really? She was that good?" LeBeau asked.

"Yes. Give her a good poker and she'll play any tune you like," Newkirk replied. "I wonder if it's the same old couple. God, I hope not. I don't have a good feeling about this at all, Gov."

"What you are worried about, Newkirk?" Hogan asked. "I'm sure they're highly esteemed or they wouldn't be here."

"Highly esteemed by whom, Sir? The couple I'm thinking of are a proper pair of goons," Newkirk said flatly.

"I know how you feel about the Germans, but these goons are on _our_ side, Newkirk," Hogan said sternly.

"No, Sir, not 'goons' as in Nazi thugs. 'Goons' as in eccentrics. Silly, odd, foolish people. Crittendon-like, actually." Newkirk looked deeply concerned. "Are you sure it's Krün and not Crun? The chap I'm thinking of was a lighthouse keeper, or a possibly a lawyer. Or a gas board director. I can't quite recall."

A shudder went through Hogan as Newkirk mentioned a certain name, but he refused to let it show. He had a mission to lead. "Look, Newkirk, if you're uncomfortable with this assignment, LeBeau and I can take someone else with us to meet them. We need to be confident we can work with them to resume escapes along that route. Carter's available if you're not."

"No, no, Colonel, I'll go. I don't like this game, but I suppose I had better meet them before making up my mind."

"Good man. We leave at 2200 hours."

" _Mon Colonel_ , whose idea was it to transfer Willy and Jenny and replace them with Krün and Bannister?" LeBeau asked. Something Newkirk had said was bothering him.

Hogan looked pensive. "It's a good question. I didn't pick them; I wasn't even consulted. Kinch, see if you can get on the horn to London and find out, OK?"

"Will do, Sir," Kinch said. He tried not to tip his hand, but he had heard some rumors and he didn't have a good feeling about this either.

**H=H=H=H=H**

"It's a pity we couldn't get an answer from Kinch before we left camp," Newkirk fretted. It was late, it was cold, and he was crouched beside Hogan and LeBeau in a thicket of grass and bushes directly across from the cottage formerly occupied by Jenny and Willy. Between Colonel Hogan's concussion and the disturbing discovery about the female agents at Station One, things hadn't gone swimmingly last time, and Newkirk couldn't shake a sense of impending doom.

LeBeau was peering through a pair of binoculars toward the cottage. "I can't see anyone in the house," he said.

"It's much too dark to see. Strike a match, Newkirk," Hogan said.

"Is that really safe? The Germans might be watching, and there is a blackout, Sir," Newkirk said. At this moment, he regretted his status as the team's heaviest smoker.

"Don't be ridiculous. They can't see a match being struck," Hogan said.

"Oh all right," Newkirk replied. As he lit the match, the shriek of a bomb whistling past their ears filled the night. A bolt of fire flew overhead and landed with an explosion barely 20 feet past them.

"Any questions?" Newkirk asked.

"Yes, where are my legs?" LeBeau replied.

"Very funny, LeBeau," Hogan said sourly. "We're obviously dealing with someone armed with long-range guns. We'll have to wait this out."

"We won't, Sir," Newkirk said. "Luckily I have a 200-foot candle in my trouser pocket." No one understood why he said that, least of all Newkirk, because it was actually a Wehrmacht-issue _knijpkat_ flashlight. He flicked on the flashlight, and they scrambled stealthily toward the cottage as missiles shot past them.

**H=H=H=H=H**

Inside the cottage, the new residents were settling in nicely. The kettle was simmering to a boil and the tea pot was warm in its embroidered floral cosy. The cat was licking its paws by the fire.

"The German artillery seems to work well, Min," Krün said in a quavering voice. He creaked back and forth in his rocking chair, his old, decrepit limbs sore from the exertion of loading his elephant gun, or possibly from just moving about at all, really.

"I don't know what you brought that gun for, Heinrich. You can't shoot elephants in Germany, you know," Minnie said as she fussed with the tea.

"And why not?"

"They're out of season," she said, swishing the water over the leaves.

She put the tea pot down to let the leaves steep for four minutes, and sat in silence, a silence so deafening that she could not help but listen to it.

"Heinrich, Heinrich!" Minnie said.

"What is it now, Minnie?"

"Can't you hear, Heinrich? There's no one knocking at the door!"

"Then I won't answer it, Minnie. You never know who it might not be."

"But it might not be somebody we know," Minnie explained.

"Oh, then I'd better see who isn't there." Heinrich got up on his feet and toddled toward the door. He nudged it a crack to find three men peering in at him.

Newkirk took one look at the man, and his heart sank. "Open up, or I'll write to _The Times_ ," he commanded.

That was a threat that carried weight. Heinrich Krün, better known in his native country as Henry Crun, capitulated and slowly swung open the door.

**H=H=H=H=H**

Shortly after the team had departed, Sergeant Kinchloe was seated at his worktable in the tunnels of Stalag 13, patiently taking down a reply from London. It had taken them long enough, he thought. He hated to send Colonel Hogan off without having all the answers to his questions, and this one was simple enough: Who was in charge of selecting the new agents? With each tap, tap, tap of Morse code, Kinch's eyes grew wider and his stomach grew weaker.

"It can't be. No. It just can't," he muttered.

Carter, who was nearby taking stock of his chemicals, popped his head in just as the muttering was reaching a worrisome level.

"It was whose idea?" Kinch asked himself rhetorically. "This can't be serious."

"What's wrong, Kinch?" Carter asked. He was starting to worry. Kinch was usually the most sensible member of their little group, but at the moment he was babbling to himself incoherently.

Kinch looked up to face Carter. "We have a new head of strategy for POW escape and field operations in our sector. He's escaped from Germany twice, and _he_ made the decision about the agents," Kinch said. He looked strangely green in the pale light of the oil lamps.

"That's good, right? It sounds like he knows the lay of the land," Carter said with his usual optimism. "This is the person who transferred Jenny and Willy out and sent us the new agents? Because he should sure know their strengths and weaknesses."

"Oh, I'm sure he does," Kinch said wearily. "This is also the same officer who decided to issue each commando with an Army sock full of lukewarm spaghetti."

"Why would anyone do that?" Carter asked in complete befuddlement.

"He said that when a German is struck with the full force of the spaghetti he'll think the Italians have turned on them," Kinch said. "It's this self-described military genius's proposed method for ending the war. He came up with this right after he thought of geraniums on the runways."

"It's not." Carter blanched.

"It is. It's Crittendon, and apparently Heinrich Krün and Minnie Bannister are his protégés."

"I don't wish to know that," Carter said.

"Well, tough luck, because I need you to leave now to get a word to Colonel Hogan and the guys at Station Two. They are not to engage with Krün and Bannister. Repeat, stand down. Do not engage," Kinch said.

"OK, I'll tell them. Colonel Hogan will want to know who issued that order, of course," Carter said.

"That would be me," Kinch said. "Just mention Crittendon. He'll understand."

**H=H=H=H=H**

"All right, Crun, what's going on?" Newkirk demanded. "Last time I saw you, you were a pawnshop owner, or was it a Harley Street specialist? I've forgot. It doesn't matter. What are you doing in Germany?"

"Hallo, Peter," Crun said.

"Hallo, Peter," Minnie said. She began singing his name in an irritating sing-song

"Hallo, Peter," Crun said

"Hallo Hallo Hallo Peter Peter Peter," Minnie sang.

"Shut up, both of you," Newkirk shouted over the din. "I repeat, why are you in Germany?"

"Why ARE we here, Minnie?" Crun asked.

"Why? Because we'll all be murdered in our beds in England! There are German spies everywhere!" Minnie said.

"Yes, but… there are more Germans here. It's Germany, you see," Newkirk reasoned.

"Heavens! This could mean curtains for us!" Minnie said.

"It could also mean windows and doors," Crun added thoughtfully.

"Look, you lot. Stop it with the atrocious jokes and non-sequiturs," Newkirk said fiercely. "This is a long, hard war as it is. You two coffin-dodgers should be tucked up at home with a hot water bottle under the blankets and that nice moggie curled up beside you," he said, waving at the cat that was now sleeping by the fire. "And a straitjacket apiece," he muttered under his breath.

"What exactly is going on, Newkirk?" Hogan implored. He did not like the feeling that Newkirk was somehow, inexplicably, better informed about the current, baffling situation than he was.

"I'm afraid, Sir, that these two characters are quite well known in my homeland," Newkirk said, his voice tinged with anger and shame. "It's absolute insanity to have them here in a position of responsibility. They can't find their way out of a bleeding Wurlitzer."

"It's not insanity. I earned this job," Crun said defiantly. "I went to the air ministry with the plans of a steam-driven rocket and a horse-driven Zeppelin, and they offered me ten thousand pounds a year and any job I wanted," Crun said.

"They valued your idea that much?" LeBeau asked. The British were a baffling people.

"No. They wanted me to shut up and go away," Crun said. "That was when we were hauled into the glasshouse by the Air Ministry, where we met Colonel Crittendon."

"So you were his prisoners?" Hogan surmised.

"No. We were his cellmates," Crun replied.

"I don't wish to know that," Hogan said.

Hogan, LeBeau and Newkirk were incapable of feeling surprise when it came to Crittendon. In his presence, credibility was an expanding field. Any mention of his name brought on a sickening sense of déjà vu and a desperate belief that now any awful thing was possible.

They were, however, stunned when Carter burst into the room.

He was heaving and panting, having run through the woods to reach them with word of Kinch's dreadful discovery.

"Colonel," he said through gasps, "The two agents who are stationed here were assigned here by… by…"

"Crittendon," Hogan said. "We know."

"Well, why did I run four miles, then?" Carter demanded to know. He looked around the cottage. "Hey," he said. "I think the cat wants to go out."

"Why do you say that?" LeBeau asked.

"He just put his hat and coat on," Carter answered. Newkirk simply rolled his eyes.

"Why can't we have a nice, normal cat?" Crun lamented.

"Moggie!" Minnie scolded. "Why can't you wear a lovely woolly pullover like all the other cats?"

"Because it's the dog's turn to wear the pullover," Newkirk replied wearily. Hogan, LeBeau and Carter snapped their heads to stare at him. "What? I might not enjoy absurdity and surrealism, but I know my lines."

**H=H=H=H=H**

"This is not going to work," Hogan said in a quiet voice to Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter. They were huddled around the table while Crun rocked in his rocker watching Minnie perform a modern dance involving both movement and voice. The voice part consisted of tuneless humming and incomprehensible scat singing.

"Stop that sinful modern America rhythmic singing, Min," Crun warbled. "You're driving me mad with that."

" _Bom bom biddle bo_ ," Minnie sang, getting jazzy. "It's all the rage, buddy."

"Ooh, stop that sinful gyrating the lower portion of the torso-type dancing," Crun moaned.

Hogan and his core team looked on dumbfounded at the silver-haired wrinklies, then resumed whispering.

"We've got to get Jenny and Willy back," LeBeau agreed. "They were younger than these two _crétins_ , and they made sense when they talked."

"They can't come back. Their cover's blown," Hogan said glumly.

"Shouldn't we be asking what Crittendon saw in these two?" Carter asked. "Is it possible we're missing something important?"

The men all stared at him, but Carter refused to back down. "Say what you like, he always thought highly of me."

"There's your answer, Andrew," Newkirk grumbled, looking hopeless. But he turned to Colonel Hogan. "Like it or not, Sir, Crittendon IS head of strategy for POW escape and field operations. This week, any road. We might have to go through channels."

Carter was nodding his head vigorously. LeBeau was watching Minnie wave her silk veils, his facial expression reflecting equal doses of fascination and revulsion.

"Stop it Min! You're driving me into a frenzy of evil dancing," Crun said as he stumbled to his feet to dance with her.

"No, I'm not gonna stop my rhythm..." Minnie sang. They danced and talked and sang over one another and argued furiously as Hogan's team looked on helplessly.

"All right," Hogan agreed. "We'll get Crittendon on the radio. But he'd better have a good explanation."

"Righto, Sir. Well, I'll go outside and give a tin of meat to the cat, then," Newkirk said.

"You're not going anywhere," Hogan said, grabbing Newkirk by the collar. "He's your countryman."

"You can't possibly hold that against me, Sir," Newkirk complained. "He's an upper class twit, and I'm not." But Hogan had a firm grip—actually, quite a painful one—on his neck, so Newkirk reluctantly took his place beside Colonel Hogan as he cranked up the wireless set.

They quickly made radio contact, but discovered Crittendon was no longer in London. "He's been deployed on a secret mission, Papa Bear," an anxious voice said. "He left two days ago. I can patch you through, but it will take several relays. Please be patient."

"Fine. What's his code name?" Hogan said.

"Fred, Sir," the voice said apologetically.

"I can't stand this," Newkirk moaned.

"Is that significant somehow?" Hogan asked quizzically.

"Apparently it's an intrinsically funny name, Sir," Newkirk said.

"I'll never understand the British," Hogan said.

"I'm not sure I shall do, either," Newkirk replied.

Ten minutes passed, and the relays were complete.

"Come in Papa Bear, Fred to Papa Bear, How are you doing, Hogan, old chap?"

"Fred, the whole point of having a code name is not to say other names," Hogan hissed.

"Quite right! Quite right! Jolly clever of you!" Crittendon allowed. "Well, how are the rest of the Luft Stalag 13 gang, then?"

"Fred..." Hogan warned in a voice that could have curdled milk. "I'm contacting you about the new agents at Station Two."

"Oh, I was rather hoping you'd mention that. Peerless, aren't they?"

Hogan glanced at Minnie, who was dancing languorously to the music in her head as Crun slept in his rocking chair. "Yes, I think you could safely say that." He looked around. Crittendon's voice was strangely loud. Suddenly, up above him, he heard a thud, which also reverberated in his headset.

"Sorry, old chap, dropped the handset," Crittendon said.

Hogan rolled his eyes and tipped his head toward the back staircase. Newkirk and LeBeau went up, while Carter stood by watching Minnie dance.

"Crittendon! Pay attention! What is your exact position?" Hogan demanded.

"I'm lying on my side, with my knees drawn up under my chin."

From up the staircase, he heard LeBeau call out. "Found him, _mon Colonel!_ "

"He's fallen in to the water, Sir!" Newkirk added.

"What water?" Hogan asked.

"The bathtub, Sir," Newkirk said in a heavy voice. "Stay down there. You shouldn't have to see this."

"Find him a towel and a bathrobe. I'm coming up there," Hogan said. "Carter, watch the door."

Five minutes later, Hogan had hauled a still-wet Crittendon down the narrow staircase. His shirt and trousers clung damply to his frame, but Hogan didn't care.

"That's it. You're all leaving," Hogan said. "We're shipping you all back to England tonight."

"How are we getting them there, Sir?" Newkirk asked incredulously.

"We'll think of something. We'll build an airplane. Or a boat," Hogan said. "We can make things happen very fast off screen."

"Oh, no. You can't get the wood, you know," Crun said.

"I can get you the wood. You're going. And Jenny and Willy are coming back until we find someone with half a brain to take their places."

"Why should we listen to you, you German spy? You'll have us murdered in our beds!" Minnie shouted.

"He's American," Crun observed. "He speaks a sort of English."

"Oh, these Germans are very clever. They speak German as well you know," Minnie said.

"Oh, don't have a wobbler, Hogan," Crittendon said. "It's perfectly all right. Minnie and Henry were only here temporarily. A reward for their exemplary service. Join the Army, See the World, that sort of thing. I have an excellent team on the way."

"Oh," Hogan said. "Well, that does sound better. Who is it, if I may ask?"

He didn't have to wait. The door flew open and an adenoidal Boy Scout from East Finchley ambled in.

"Enter Bluebottle," the lad said. "Strikes heroic pose, but trousers fall down and ruin effect."

His sidekick came in behind him, a lanky and dim-witted teenager with a Neanderthal brow. His name was Eccles.

"What are you doing here?" Newkirk asked in horror.

"Everybody's gotta be somewhere," Eccles replied.

"I hate to tell you this, Colonel, but I think things just got worse," Newkirk said.

Crittendon seemed unconcerned. He pulled his doddering protégés close to him.

"Listen here, Miss Bannister, Mr. Crun. I've got a new idea. We'll get back to Blighty, build cardboard tanks, put them on the Salisbury plain, and the Germans will waste thousands of bombs on them."

"Cardboard bombs!" Crun said, his eyes lighting up.

"It'll all be over by Christmas, old buddy," Minnie said as they wandered off together.


End file.
